


Matter of Honor

by thetammyjo



Series: Matter of Series [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Character Death, Complete, Consent, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Femdom, Leather Kink, Original Character(s), Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetammyjo/pseuds/thetammyjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leather Master gives his slave to former apprentice in modern day M/s dynamic.  Can two people of different sexual orientations honor one man's last request?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matter of Honor

“Get your ass over here, slave!” the demin and leather clad topman with graying hair yelled from his corner in the bar. “I think you’re gonna like him,” he informed his companion with a serious smile.

“I’m doing this for you, Roy,” the younger woman reminded him as she pulled her leather jacket closer around her. Been a long time since she’d been in a gay leather bar, this was not the reason she wanted to come back but she owed Roy more than she could probably ever repay.

“I’m grateful, Amanda,” the topman replied. “He can benefit you if you just give the boy a chance.”

A young man, naked from his demin clad waist up, hair plastered to his damp face, probably from dancing or something else in the back rooms, snapped to attention at the topman’s side. “Yes, Sir!” he barked.

The topman glanced up at the youngster then motioned to the area in front of their table. “Pose yourself, boy!”

“Yes, Sir!” The slave moved quickly into place and assumed first position, feet shoulder width apart, hands locked behind neck, body ridged and taunt.

“You could bounce a quarter off this stomach,” Roy said as he lightly slapped that area making the silver nipple rings jiggle.

At the motion of his master’s hand, the slave moved into second position on knees spread wide, arms clasped behind back, head tilted back to display upper body fully resulted in a proud yet vulvernable look.

Roy stood up and walked to stand in front of his property. “He likes this,” the topman chuckled as he grabbed the slave’s wavy brown hair and forced his head back further. “You like this, don’t you, cocksucker,” he taunted as he used his boot to grind into the slave’s rather obvious bulge under his jeans.

“Yes, Sir!” the slave moaned loudly, a smile on his eager lips. At the next signal he lowered his hands and head to his master’s boots. His knees were spread wide as he thrust his demin covered ass up invitingly.

“You my property, boy?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“I own your body and soul, don’t I, boy?” Roy glanced at the woman as she frowned at the exchange.

“Yes, Sir!”

“Good. Roy moved aside and two hightop sneakers with red stripes took his placed. “I just gave you to Amanda here.”

The slave sat up slowly and looked at the woman. He’d met Amanda a few other times at leather events. Except for being female, her habit of wearing sneakers were the oddest things about her in his leather world. Other places might have embraced a more poly atmosphere but the leather men here kept to themselves. Otherwise her demin jeans, worn black leather jacket, white oxford shirt, and keys worn on the left seemed fairly ordinary. Her fair skin, long curly blonde hair, and gold rim glasses might be attractive to straight men or bi boys, but she looked just like a femme leather dyke to him.

Amanda let him look at her for a few minutes then she ordered, “Let’s go,” before turning on her heel and heading toward the door.

“Good joke, Sir,” the slave began but fond himself shoved down onto the table by the topman.

“No joke, boy. You belong to her now and if you don’t do good by her,” the topman added another finger under the metal slave collar cutting off the flow of air, “I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

The slave slumped against the table as the topman released him. “Yes, Sir,” he gasped as he scrambled to his feet.

Amanda had stopped and was looking at him. She walked back and grabbed his wrist. “Let’s go,” she ordered again.

 

Amanda let go of him long enough for him to get on a t-shirt and his own demin jacket since he had yet to earn any leathers. He rustled through his pockets and took out a much lighter key ring, the apartment key and the shop key were both missing. With a glance back he found his master, no former master, all ready conversing with another topman whose boy was clinging to him, nuzzling his crotch. When had it gone wrong?

The slave blinked as he felt a warm but smaller hand around his wrist again. “You coming, John?” He nodded, unsure how to respond to his name, he hadn’t heard anything but boy, slave, bitch, cocksucker, whore, and a string of other supposedly insulting terms in a few years now. John was a name on his ID not who he was.

He let her pull him out of the club, noting with a rising heat on his cheeks that the other leathermen let them pass silently with only shakes of there heads and a few whispered exchanges. Great, word traveled fast it seemed.

They strode over the dirty snow that marked the end of February in New York City and waited until she could flag down a taxi. By the time he normally left the club he’d be so well fucked and flogged he wouldn’t notice the damp and chill but now he just shivered slightly as they waited.

Once in a taxi his wrist was released and Amanda, no, he needed to find out what she wanted to be called, moved to the other side of the seat. He glanced at her and wanted to cuss her out but just after just one second he could tell she wasn’t very happy about this either. “Is this a fucking joke?” he said soft enough that the driver couldn’t hear.

She turned her eyes to him and blinked once then fumbled in an inner pocket on her jacket. She took on an envelop and handed it to him.

John looked at it, noting his master, no, former master’s handwriting on the front. “Contract between Roy Milton Rangle and John C. McGowen, December 25, 2008.” Flipping it over he found the seal broken so he took the contract out. It was a simple thing, only two pages, something his Master, former master, had warned him about but at 23 John had been certain he had figured out what he wanted. There it was, the clause about full ownership over John, his very person, and it was signed over to Amanda Patrica Wheeler with today’s date on it.

He gripped the document tightly. It wasn’t legal, just a matter of honor, he could tear it up, rip up his honor, along with everything that he’d been taught over the past five years. He couldn’t sense her looking at him so he glanced up. Nope, she was looking out the window as though she didn’t care what he did. His hands started to tremble.

Fuck that! He wasn’t letting some little cunt ruin his honor or his master’s, former master’s word.

He folded it back up and placed it back in the envelop. “Here, Ma’am,” he said offering it back on his upturned palms, his eyes on the seat. A few heart beats passed and she took it from him.

“Fine then, you belong to me now,” she sighed out.

 

Amanda took him by the wrist again when he paused outside her East Side building. Yeah, yeah, she was a success, for some reason that was viewed with suspicion by so many leatherfolk these days. She wasn’t gonna let some little leather boycunt give her grief about it.

She winced at the thought. She was being unnecessarily mean to him when she was really angry at Roy. It was clear the bastard hadn’t told the kid anything. She glanced at him as the doorman opened the door and let them in with one arched eyebrow. John wasn’t a kid anymore, what was he, 27, 28? She’d ask once he’d settle down.

“Ms Wheeler,” the front receptionist said as they walked up to the desk. “You had some deliveries an hour ago, we put them up in your entryway as you asked.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” Amanda said as she took the rest of her mail. She noted the woman eyeing John who was eyeing her right back. “Oh, this is John McGowen, he’s moving in with me. Could we get a passkey for him soon?”

Sarah smiled as she reached into a drawer. “As soon as you fill out the paperwork we’d be happy to, Ms Wheeler.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, I’ll get right on that,” Amanda said. She shoved the folder with the paperwork and the mail into the slave’s free hand then jerked him after her.

“I won’t run, Ma’am,” he said as they stopped in front of the elevator. 

She sighed again and released his wrist. “I have to fill out these forms before you can get passkeys. So until then you’ll stay in my place or come and go with me. Got it?”

“Of course, Ma’am,” he replied with his own sigh heavily tinged by frustration.

Amanda didn’t think, just react, so she blinked when he fell back a step from her slap. “I won’t tolerate a bad attitude, you got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said as his cheek turned dark where she’d hit him.

“Shit,” Amanda said softly as she turned away and used her passkey to get into the elevator and then to access the top floor. They didn’t say a word on the ride up eight stories and no word as she led them to the second apartment on the floor, one with the best east facing windows.

The packages were lined up along side the left wall of the short entryway. The complex had a passkey to this part of her place but not the other door about three yards further in. She glanced at him and he immediately looked down. Great, things were going so well all ready, just her luck.

“I think these are all your things, yes?” she said motioning to the boxes and suitcase.

He breathed in sharply as he looked and gave a curt nod in reply but she let it go for now.

She didn’t like non-verbal communication much. It was too easy for her to get absorbed in her own mind, turning over the next project, wrestling with the balance between client wants and her artistic vision, only words or sounds tended to cut through that.

“Pick up one of them and I’ll show you were you can put your stuff,” she said striding to the other door and opening it with her passkey.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, his voice sounded chocked. Oh, god, he wasn’t gonna cry, was he? Where were the good old leathermen who never cried until you beat it out of them?

She led him to one of the spare bedrooms, the one nearest the kitchen, opposite the main bathroom. Her own was at the end of the hall and her studio took up the entire space on the opposite side of the condo. “This is all yours, as you can see it is pretty bare right now, just this walk-in closet, these built in cabinets, basic bed. You’ll have to use the bathroom across the hall, only on-suite is in my room,” she babbled as he brought in the suitcase and one of the smaller boxes.

She shook her head. “If you hurt yourself doing more than what I order, you can look in the mirror to find who’s to blame, got it?”

He frowned as he set both items on the floor at the end of the bed. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll be careful with your… property,” he said that last word softer and looked down at the floor again.

Roy was a bastard not telling him anything, forbidding her from telling him much. “Let’s go get the rest of it then we talk about my rules,”she ordered as she simply left his room assuming he would follow.

 

Her rules were a much shorter list compared to his former master’s John decided as she finished going through the laminated sheet of them. 

Amanda is the Boss  
Obeying the Boss makes life easier.  
Remember what the Boss teaches you.  
Ask the Boss questions before you make a mistake.  
Complaints? See top of the list.

Of course the list was deceptive because who knew how often she might change her mind or how she wanted things done. At her whim everything could change but at least he didn’t have to memorize a book length manual on how he would fit into his master’s world. Since questions were allowed…

“Ma’am, how do you want me to call you? Here, out and about, with friends, family, work?” he asked as she finished putting the list back up on the wall opposite the second door into her place.

She paused then turned around with a thoughtful look on her face. “Master works or Ms. Wheeler if we are around mundanes. Ma’am works, too, for now.”

For now… it was all ready beginning. Might as well push now and get it over with so he could figure out what the hell just happened tonight.

“Just because you bought me doesn’t make you my master,” he told her firmly looking straight into her eyes.

She cocked one eyebrow at him and shrugged. “You’re right, it wouldn’t cause that’s illegal. Good thing I didn’t buy you then, huh?” she casually stated as she walked out of the kitchen where they had been talking before he could think of a reply.

“What?” John’s voice squeaked in response as he hurried after her. She was all ready sitting in a chair and looking through the mail that had been in a basket by the private door.

He stopped in front of her, placing his hands on his hips. “You did, I saw the contract and I saw him sign me over to you.”

She glanced up at him but didn’t set the paper down. “No you didn’t. He just gave you to me, actually he asked me to take on your contract and since I owed him as his apprentice, I agreed.”

John felt like the air had been kicked out of him. He hadn’t seen money exchanged, he just thought it must have happened before he was called over. As much as his former master tried, the slave had noticed the financial problems, for example that they went out a lot less often, that he was asked to cook at home almost every night, and that Roy was gone more frequently for several days at a time.

At first John thought it was a matter of the general economy which had been stagnant for a few years now. He offered to get a job but Roy insisted his job was to be a slave and that meant staying at home and taking care of it for them both. Sounded more like a wife to John but he wasn’t going to argue after giving his word to obey Roy’s every command.

Roy? When did he start thinking of him as Roy and not master? Was he just some object to be given away? Some slut that could serve any person whose name was on that contract? John swallowed, he was, wasn’t he? Isn’t that what he’d agreed to when he signed it? But why not sell him if money was tight? It didn’t make sense.

“Do it now if that’s what you want,” John looked up at Amanda, damned if she’d become master in anything other than words, and realized he’d missed most of what she said. She was holding out the contract toward him again, the paper on the stand next to her, as she gazed up at him with a tired glaze to her eyes. Roy never let him see his tiredness, his sadness, any emotion he could possibly keep under control, so he was thrown by how to respond.

She sighed and stood up, shaking her head. “Did you hear me at all?” When he just shook his own head and stepped back she advanced on him with the contract between them. “Look, you made this with Roy, I paid nothing for you, so far I haven’t put in much time or money into taking care of you, so now is the time to back out, take this and rip it up, call a cab, and get your stuff out of my house.”

A choice? John looked down and felt his anger crumble. One of the few decent things his father had taught him before kicking him out onto the streets for being a fag was that a man’s only strength was in his word. His word on that document, his promise to Roy and the leather world to be the best slave he could be. He might not feel she was his master but he could honor his word and treat her like she was. As Roy often told him early on: pretend for now, later it will become real.

He knelt down on both knees and went into a full submission pose resting his head on her tennis shoes. He didn’t move or glance up when a soft sound broke from her above him. 

They remained still for a few minutes then she spoke up. “You’ll take care of the house then, I’ll have maid service show you what to do, maybe later if you have any talent you can take over the cooking. That will save me both monthly fees. Go unpack your stuff and get to bed, I want you up by dawn so you can be decent when Lucia arrives to clean up.”

John waited to sit up until she’d left the room. Fairly clear orders, direct, but no sexual innuendo or hot insults. This was going to take getting used to. With that he pushed himself up and went to do as she said.

 

“You slut, look at that piggie ass just sucking me in, what a pansy whore,” John nodded as he braced for each amazing stroke from his master’s fat cock. 

He blinked as his head was forced back by another leatherman who glared down at him. “You better get out of your ass, fucker, and work on my dick!” John blinked again and used his tongue more on the rod in his mouth. 

Below he could feel his own dong being sucked, stroked, pinched, while his balls were batted about and scratched. 

He was in heaven as the center of attention to an entire room full of sweaty, horny dudes just waiting for their turn to get a go at him, any way they wanted him except his ass, that belonged to Roy.

John frowned, it wasn’t proper to even think his name. Then the guys molesting him stepped back and he leaned forward for the next.

Nothing.

Then Roy pulled out and left him hot, dripping, open, needy.

“Sir?” he crocked out softly after what seemed like a long time had passed and his skin was starting to get goosebumps from the chill creeping over it. “Sir?”

“Used up piece of trash, isn’t it?” a man’s voice with a familiar rasp from years of smoking said from the sudden darkness that surrounded him.

“Weren’t good for much to begin with,” that was Roy’s voice? 

“Uneducated piece of shit. Not even his own father wanted him,” came another.

“That’s not true,” John whispered back. His master had spent a good number of months teaching him how to be a good slave, useful, eager, obedient so that his faults didn’t matter in their insular world.

“Just get rid of it,” that same familiar cigarette wrecked voice tossed out. That was Desmond, the one leather man in their circle that Roy might listen to when he ignored all others.

“No,” John pleaded a bit louder.

“I’m gonna do that real soon,” Roy’s voice replied.

“No!” John yelled and blinked into the darkness around him. He wasn’t tied face down in a sling in some back room in a bar, he was on a firm bed with mundane sheets now shocked with his sweat. What was he doing here?  
He looked up at the sound of soft footsteps and found a shadow in his door way, it was a bit wide but shorter than he expected, but he had to throw up a hand to block out the lights when they came on so he couldn’t see for a few seconds.

“What’s going on?” John blinked and focused on the female voice until he could see a very naked Amanda standing next to the bed. No, not completely naked, she had boy-shorts and a tank top, possibly a bra on as well. She wasn’t thin by any stretch of the imagination something he’d never noticed before since he’d only seen her in her jeans, button down shirts and leather jacket. She was solid though, and if you could forget her long hair, almost like a chubby dude round in a few places most men didn’t want to be.

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asked bending closer to him and squinting.

“I,” John swallowed and looked down at his lap where his cock was doing the unthinkable, tenting up slowly. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he offered in a low voice as he cursed his body for heating up when she put a hand on his forehead.

“I hope it is just a nightmare cause I have an installation in two weeks and I can’t afford to get sick,” she said with a sigh. “You feel a bit cool actually.”

“I’m fine, Ma’am, please don’t concern yourself.”

She sighed loudly and stood up straight, her breasts bouncing just slightly with the movement. “Fine. Keep it down then.” 

John stayed in bed as she left, turning off the lights after herself. He listened until her own bedroom door made noise indicating she’d shut it. He must have been loud to wake her up.

He got out of bed and went into the walk-in closet that looked so bare with his small amount of clothes. Who needed much when you were kept in a jockstrap most of the time? That wasn’t going to be here though, he wasn’t going to assume anything beyond jeans and tees unless she gave him a direct command. He took down one of the boxes he’d only partially unpacked and found his duct tape inside. Pulling off a good two strips he taped it over his mouth and chin firmly. That should keep any noise he made under control.

For next several weeks he reapplied new duct tape each night as the nightmares grew worse before easing off.

 

Amanda sat down tiredly on one of the barstools in her kitchen as her slave placed dinner for both of them on the breakfast bar where they took most of their meals. She watched as he poured them each a glass of red wine and stood across from her, hands behind his back, eyes on the table until she had her first bite.

Having lived in Roy’s family for two years as a junior top had made such behavior normal if not common since she left the lifestyle to steer her blossoming career as best she could on her own. Truth was that she didn’t like most people and rarely had time for others when the Muses were pounding on her brain. Her slave kept a lot of folks out of her line of sight and simplified things a lot. He was a benefit as Roy has promised, she winced at that thought.

Her slave cleared his throat and drew her attention to him. He was glancing up at her but otherwise hadn’t moved. She moved her head slightly and widened her eyes, a signal they’d settled upon that allowed him to speak without her needing to give explicit permission. Some of the formalities he’d brought with him, like waiting for her to take the first bite were fine but others seemed a bit annoying. Without outright negotiation they’d figured out what worked in the months he’d been here.

“Is dinner not to your liking, Master? I could make something else, Ma’am,” he offered simply.

She looked down at the envelop clenched tightly in her hand then back at him. Words were refusing to form so she held it out to him over the chicken he’d made them.

John looked at her then took the envelope, re-opening it and taking it out. He read silently for a few moments then clasped one hand over his mouth as he sobbed. She bolted around the island as he fell to the floor with retching sounds.

He was laying on his side, the laminated obituary sheet fallen to the tiles, his eyes streaming tears as his chest heaved. It was too much so she slid to her own knees and started to cry as well.

In a few minutes they were cried out and just stared at each other. “Cancer?” John crocked out as he sat up and picked up the announcement. “Did you know, Master?” he managed to grind out.

Amanda glanced away for a second then forced herself to look up at him. “He told me, made me promise not to mention anything to you, keep you out of the circle, until it was done. He was my mentor, like a father to me, I had to do it,” she offered weakly.

John just sat back and leaned against the kitchen cabinet for a few seconds. She wouldn’t blame him, hell, she wouldn’t even be angry if he got up and left, sent for his things later. She’d gotten used to him, perhaps even relied on him too much, but she’d let him go if he couldn’t forgive her for keeping it all a secret. Roy’s wishes betrayed the code of honor between leathermen after all.

Amanda looked up at him in shock when he stood and held out his hand to help her rise. “We should eat, Master, cause nuking it will only make it rubbery.” It was the last full sentence he spoke for some time.

She took the offered hand and found herself pulled up close to him before he released her and stepped back with a nod toward the plates.

They both ate in silence, the meal merely something that was normal when the lie she’d kept up threatened to unravel it all.

His silence ruled the condo until she found it affecting her work a few weeks later. Hitting him did no good, he just took it stoically and bowed his head to her feet when she got tired. Pimping him out only resulted in few leather men willing to have a second go because he didn’t make a sound and never got hard.

Amanda called the one person in the world she thought might know what to do before the Saudi agents called again wanting to know how the pieces were going.

 

John braced himself as he was pulled by the wrist out of the car that had showed up outside their building that morning before the sun was even peeking over the horizon. Master had tossed him a blindfold that he put on then ducttaped it firmly in place. If he’d felt anything it might have been insulted that she didn’t trust him after ten months. It was a change from routine but then he vaguely remember something about Christmas on the news over the past few weeks. 

He had just been going through the motions since that evening with the obituary, more and more the obedient object that a slave was supposed to be with each passing day. It numbing and numb was the only thing keeping him sane when he was awake.

She led him across some crunching ground, telling him when he needed to step up or to the side. He followed and never even tripped once as his body moved on her command. She’d become a stereotypical hardass that used him like the tool he was. Maybe she was giving him to some store front santa out in the park, looking to get a little suck and fuck before storing the suit for another year. That could be amusing if he felt anything.

They stopped and he got down on his knees at her word. He didn’t even react when removing the ducttaped blindfold also removed a few of his hairs.

He opened his eyes when ordered and looked at the white stone in front of him. 

Roy Milton Rangle  
Born June 5, 1945  
Died August 12, 2012  
Beloved Brother, Mentor, and Master

John glance up but didn’t find his current master there. Instead Desmond was standing at the side of the gravestone frowning down at him.

John didn’t say anything he just scurried forward and hit the stone with a fist. Over and over he hit it until the blood was running from his hands and he was cursing out loud. He broke down in to sobs as he felt her firm yet smaller arms wrap around him.

“He wanted to save you from seeing him getting worse and worse each day,” Desmond said, his voice harsh from his years of smoking.

“You mean he wanted to save face by not looking weak,” Master said, her words loud in John’s ears as she rocked him.

Desmond chuckled and brought his hand down on the tombstone. “Yeah, he always was a selfish bastard even if he convinced himself he was doing it for the other guy.”

John clung to his master like his life depended on her, as they sat in the rising dawn in the cemetery.

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” Desmond tossed out as he walked away.

They knelt there for hours until John pulled back just enough to look at her. Her glasses were frosted but she’d stayed with him. She only withheld information to she honored the man who taught her. Without a word he leaned in and kissed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Christmas Swap created by Lady Om in the Original Slave Fiction Community.
> 
> Please note that this has not been betaed and has not had a professional edtior.
> 
> It has spun off at least one follow-up Story.


End file.
